Erich Maria Remarque - The Road Back

I n front of the station we scatter like a bucket of water pitched out on the pavement. Kosole sets off at a sharp pace with Brger and Trosske down Heinrich Street. With Ludwig I turn rapidly into Station Avenue. Without wasting any time in farewells Ledderhose and his rag-and-bone shop have already gone like a shot: and Tjaden gets Willy to describe briefly the shortest route to the mollshop. Jupp and Valentin alone have any leisure. No one is awaiting their arrival, so they take a preliminary saunter round the station on the off chance of finding some grub. They intend later on to go to the barracks.

Water is dripping from the trees along Station Avenue; clouds trail low and drive swiftly over. Some soldiers of the latest class to be called up approach us. They are wearing red armbands. "Off with his shoulder-straps!" yells one, making a grab at Ludwig.

"Shut your mouth, you war-baby!" I say, as I shove him off.

Others press in and surround us. Ludwig looks calmly at the foremost of them and goes on his way. The fellow steps aside. Then two sailors appear and rush at him.

"You swine! can't you see he's wounded?" I shout, flinging off my pack to get freer play with my hands. But Ludwig is down already; what with the wound in his arm he is as good as defenceless. The sailors trample on him, rip at his uniform. "A lieutenant!" screeches a woman's voice. "Kick him to death, the dirty blood hound!"

Before I can come to his assistance I get a blow in the face that makes me stagger. "You son of a bitch!" I cough and with all my weight plant my boot in my assailant's stomach. He sighs and topples over. Immediately three others fall on me and drag me down. "Lights out, knives out!" cries the woman.

Between the trampling legs I can see Ludwig with his free left hand throttling one sailor, whom he has brought down by giving him a crack behind the knees. He still hangs on, though the others are hoeing into him with all their might. Then someone swipes me over the head with a belt-buckle and another treads on my teeth. Wolf promptly seizes him by the calf of his leg, but still we are unable to rise; they knock us down again every time and would tread us to pulp. Wild with rage, I try to get at my revolver. But at that moment one of the attackers crashes backwards to the pavement beside me. A second crashanother fellow unconsciousand straightway a thirdthis can have only one meaning: Willy is on the job.

He came storming up at top gallop, flung off his pack as he ran and now is standing over us, raging. He seizes them in twos by the nape of the neck, one in each hand, and bashes their heads together. Both are knocked out on the instantwhen Willy gets mad he is a living sledge hammer. We break free. I jump up, but the attackers make off. I just manage to land one of them a blow in the small of bis back with my pack and then turn to look after Ludwig.

But Willy is in full pursuit. He saw the two sailors who made the first attack on Ludwig. One now lies there in the gutter, blue and groaningand like a flying hurricane with red hair he is hot on the heels of the other.

Ludwig's arm has been trodden on and the blood is oozing through the bandage. His face is smeared with mud and his forehead torn by a heel. He wipes himself down and rises slowly. "Hurt much?" I ask him. Deathly pale, he shakes his head.

In the meantime Willy has captured the sailor and is lugging him along like a sack. "You bloody cow!" he storms. "There you've been sitting in your ships taking the summer air all the war and never have heard so much as a shot fired; and now you think it's time for you to open your beer trap and attack front-line soldiers, do you? You let me catch you! Kneel down, you malingering sod! Kneel down and ask his pardon!"

He thrusts the fellow down before Ludwig with an air ferocious enough to put the fear of God into any man. "I'll massacre you!" he snarls. "I'll tear you to bits! Kneel! Down on your knees!"

The man whimpers. "Let him alone, Willy," says Ludwig, picking up his things.

"What?" says Willy incredulously. "Are you mad! After they've trampled all over your arm!"

Ludwig is ready to go. "Ach, let him go"

For a moment Willy continues staring at Ludwig; then with a shake of his head he releases the sailor. "Right you are, then. Now, run like hell!" But he cannot resist letting fly at the last moment and giving the fellow a kick that sends him through a double somersault.

We go on our way. Willy curseshe must talk when he is angry. But Ludwig is silent.

Suddenly we see the gang of runaways coming back round the corner of Beer Street. They have gathered reinforcements.

Willy unslings his rifle. "Load, and prepare to fire!" says he, his eyes narrowing. Ludwig draws out his revolver and I also put my gun in readiness. Until now it has merely been a free fight; but this time is going to be earnest. We do not mean to be set upon a second time.

We deploy across the street at intervals of three paces so as not to form one single compact target; then we advance. The dog understands at once what is afoot. He slinks along growling in the gutter beside us. He too has learned at the Front to advance under cover.

"At twenty yards we fire!" threatens Willy.

The crowd facing us moves anxiously. We advance far ther. Rifles are pointed at us. With a click Willy slips his safety-catch and from his belt takes the hand-grenade he still carries as an iron ration. "I count up to three"

An older man, wearing an N.C.O.'s tunic from which the badges of rank have been removed, now steps out from the gang. He advances a few paces. "Are you comrades, or not?" he calls.

Willy gasps; he is outraged. "Well! I'll be damned! That's what we're asking you, you white-livered calf!" he retorts indignantly. "Who was it started attacking wounded men?"

The other stops short. "Did you do that?" he asks of the fellows behind him.

"He wouldn't take down his shoulder-straps," answers one of the group.

The man makes an impatient gesture and turns toward us again. "They shouldn't have done that, Comrades. But you don't seem to understand what is the matter. Where have you come from, anyway?"

"From the Front, of course; where else do you think?" snorts Willy.

"And where are you going?"

"Where you've been all the warback home."

"Comrade," says the man, showing an empty sleeve, "I didn't lose that at home."

"That doesn't make it any better," says Willy, unmoved. "In that case you ought to be ashamed to be seen with that push of upstart toy soldiers."

The sergeant comes nearer. "It's revolution," he says quietly, "and who isn't for us is against us."

Willy laughs. "Bloody fine revolution, no mistake! with your Society for the Removal of Shoulder-Straps! If that's all you want" He spits contemptuously.

"Not so fast, mate," says the one-armed man now walking swiftly toward him. "We do want a lot more! We want an end of war, an end of all this hatred! an end of murder! That's what we're after. We want to be men again, not war machines!"

Willy lowers his hand-grenade. "A damned fine beginning that was, I must say," he says, pointing to Ludwig's trampled bandage. Then with a few bounds he makes for the mob. "Yes, you cut along home to your mothers, you snotty-nosed brats!" he roars as they give back before him. "Want to be men, do you? Why, you aren't even decent soldiers yet! To see the way you hold your rifles, ft makes a man scared, you'll be breaking your fingers next!"

The gang starts to run. Willy turns round and stands towering before the sergeant. "And now I have something to say to youl We've had as much a bellyful of this business as you; and there's going to be an end of it, too, that's certain. But not your way. What we do we do of ourselves; it is a long time now since we have taken orders from any man. But see now!"